


Overwhelmed

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Optimism [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, In Public, M/M, Making Out, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 20:58:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mondo is waiting for Ishimaru when the last bell of the school day rings." Ishimaru cries. Mondo panics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overwhelmed

Mondo is waiting for Ishimaru when the last bell of the school day rings. He’s not in class himself, of course, but the prefect certainly is, and Mondo’s best attempts at convincing the other to skip class in favor of making out around corners of the school have been thoroughly rebuffed, usually accompanied by an expression of wide-eyed shock that would make Mondo laugh if Ishimaru weren’t so damn  _sincere_  about it.

So he waits. He’s not patient about it -- by the time the bell rings he’s dug a groove nearly an inch into the hard-packed ground under his heels just from idle kicking -- but he waits, and when the bell rings he straightens up and sighs in relief well before he actually spots Ishimaru’s blinding white jacket from across the courtyard. The other boy sees him just as quickly, adjusting his route to comes straight through the crowd to Mondo, dodging people so efficiently that they tend to stop in surprise and end up more inconvenienced than if he walked like a normal person.

Mondo’s grinning by the time Ishimaru’s close enough for him to be heard, and he just grins wider when the first words out of the other boy’s mouth are, “You didn’t attend class  _again_?”

“Course not,” Mondo says, reaching out to sling an arm heavy around Ishimaru’s narrow shoulders. The prefect steps in closer to fit better under the other’s elbow without thinking, so close Mondo’s hair would hit him if the larger boy turned his head. “People’d die of shock if I started going to class.”

“You shouldn’t neglect your education,” Ishimaru begins, but they have this conversation on a daily basis and Mondo talks over him.

“Hey, that’s what I’ve got you for, right?” They’re nearly off the school grounds, now, and Mondo glances at Ishimaru’s face sideways before he embarks on the second half of their after-school routine.

“You wanna come back to my place? Daiya won’t mind you coming over, you know he’s not home till late anyway.”

Ishimaru listens patiently to the full request, as he always does, and then he shakes his head carefully, as he always does.

“I shouldn’t,” he says, and with Ishi that’s a refusal even though in Mondo’s mouth it would be agreement. “It’s not appropriate for me to be at your home unsupervised at this point.”

“I dunno how we’re ever gonna get to the point where it  _is_  appropriate, at this rate.” Mondo growls, but he’s turning them around the corner of the school and Ishimaru’s letting him even before he goes on to the next question. “Will you stick around school with me for a while then?”

“Loitering is frowned upon,” Ishimaru says primly, but he’s starting to smile, and when Mondo crushes his hair against the other boy’s and kisses off-center against his ear he wins a startled laugh and the implicit agreement of a white-clad arm around his waist.

Ishimaru doesn’t protest when Mondo takes him out past the fields to the bleachers and the highly stereotypical position they usually occupy under the metal rows. He did the first few times, but even Ishimaru can be persuaded into the very fringes of delinquency with time. Mondo has high hopes for him. Mondo perches himself on one of the support beams under the bleachers, in consideration of Ishimaru’s persistent concern for the cleanliness of his uniform, and pulls the prefect in by his wrist. The other boy comes with no real protest, habit winning out over any lingering concerns he may have, closer until his hips fit between Mondo’s legs and the larger boy can rest his arms heavy over the other’s shoulders.

“How was class?” Mondo asks, following the script of their afternoons. Ishimaru unbends his spine enough to tip his head in against Mondo’s shoulder, and after a breathless moment of hesitation his hands come up to rest against the soft fabric of Mondo’s shirt under his jacket. It doesn’t make sense for him to hesitate -- it’s been week now that Mondo’s been absconding with the other boy after school, and Ishi still touches him like he’s not sure he’s allowed to. But he does anyway, and it’s weirdly charming, like so many other things about Ishimaru that don’t make sense.

Including the reciprocation of Mondo’s interest in him. It makes no sense at all to Mondo, particularly when he is so entirely the opposite of what Ishimaru idealizes, but when the larger boy breathes out against Ishimaru’s neck the prefect loses track of his sentence -- something about class and a test and a presentation, Mondo never bothers to actually listen -- and his hands jerk tight against Mondo’s waist before he can overthink himself into more hesitation.

“That’s interesting,” Mondo says, pulling Ishi in closer so he can loop one arm around the other boy’s neck to hold him steady and bring his other hand skimming down the side of his white jacket. “Keep talking.”

“I don’t think you’re listening,” Ishimaru says.

Mondo grins and tugs the bottom edge of the other boy’s jacket free from his pants so he can slide his fingers up under the fabric. “Doesn’t mean it’s not interesting.” His fingers hit skin and he can feel Ishimaru shudder under his hands as much as the other boy’s hands going tense against him. “I figure everything you say is interesting to people who can understand it.”

Ishimaru laughs shakily against his shoulder and his head comes down to rest against the other’s jacket. “You’re not stupid, Mondo. Don’t say things like that.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mondo agrees, actively contrite at the pull of hurt under Ishimaru’s words, and he slides his hands around the other boy’s back by way of apology. When the prefect shivers and laughs in the back of his throat he assumes he’s forgiven.

Ishimaru’s jacket has an unfortunately high collar, which makes it hard to get at his neck; Mondo ends up with a mouthful of cloth instead of skin, but the corner of his mouth hits just under the prefect’s ear and Ishi jumps and whimpers like Mondo’s shocked him. His hands creep up an inch, still tentative against Mondo’s thin shirt, and the larger boy growls gently against Ishimaru’s neck and arches his back to press harder into the other boy’s touch. Their shoulders bump together and Ishimaru rocks backward and gasps in shock. It makes Mondo laugh into his shoulder even as his blood is fizzing hot with the feel of warm skin under his fingertips.

“You’re so stiff, Ishi,” he says. When he turns his head his hair catches on the soft points of Ishimaru’s, and when he kisses the sharp rise of the other’s cheekbone the prefect jerks and quivers like he’s an ice sculpture just on the verge of melting. “Just take a deep breath.”

There’s a sound kind of like the other boy is choking against Mondo’s shoulder, and then he lifts his head to properly meet the larger boy’s gaze. Ishimaru’s eyes are wide and his mouth is open and his lips are damp so Mondo thinks he might have an imprint of lips against the dust on his jacket, and they both come in at the same time so only Mondo pulling back at the last second saves their teeth from colliding.

The first time Mondo kissed Ishimaru, he was expecting the prefect to kiss like he does everything else: carefully, conscientiously, as if he’s reading down a checklist in his head. Nothing could be further from the truth. Ishimaru kisses like he’s drowning, like he’s dying, like all the pent-up rebellion of years of obedience is bursting free and demands expression. He comes in so fast that Mondo rocks backward and nearly loses his balance against the support; for a moment they’re balanced precariously with just Mondo’s hold on Ishimaru’s waist keeping them in check. Then Mondo comes forward and Ishimaru’s hands come around to fist in the back of his shirt, and the other boy’s tongue is in his mouth and his teeth are against Mondo’s lips. Mondo isn’t sure he’s breathing -- from how hard Ishi gasps when they pull apart he thinks maybe the prefect hasn’t figured out to breathe through his nose when kissing, and he keeps forgetting to explain how that works when he’s  _not_  got Ishimaru pressed up against him. Mondo’s mouth usually comes away bruised and swollen but the dull throb of sensation is like carrying Ishi around with him for the rest of the day, and he never wants the other boy to be  _more_  gentle, not really.

He does tend to lose track of what’s going on, between the shift of rough contact at his mouth and the fingers digging into his back and the heat under his hands and seeping into his blood. Even the first time he ended up with his hands up against Ishi’s back, palms flat against shifting shoulderblades so when they finally paused for breath the prefect flushed scarlet and self-concious before he could tug his shirt back into place. This time he’s got spine, shoulders, ribs under his fingers, and there’s the ridge of a hip, he’s wiggling his fingers past the top edge of Ishimaru’s pants and the prefect is kissing his mouth, his cheek, his chin. Mondo’s fingers are on fire, desperate for contact and burning with the heat radiating off Ishi’s body, and he’s sliding his hand around to the front of the other boy’s pants and coming down and reaching until his fingers graze against hard hot skin.

Mondo doesn’t realize where his instincts are taking him until he actually makes contact, and then his first assumption is that Ishimaru will jerk away. But the prefect sucks in a gasp of air and  _whines_  against his mouth, not quite closing the distance like he’s forgotten that they’re not quite kissing at the moment, and Mondo’s eyebrows go up but his hand goes down, and he’s leaning in to kiss Ishi, to take the whimper of reaction down into his mouth and over his tongue.

When his lips hit the prefect’s he tastes salt.

It takes him a moment to place the flavor. He’s still reaching for more contact, more friction past the other boy’s pants, when the realization hits, and he’s pulling away in horror almost before he’s entirely aware of it, like a hand jerking back from a hot stove.

“Oh my god,” he blurts, because Ishi is crying, definitely crying, his eyes are shut and his dark lashes are catching together with moisture and  _oh fuck_. Mondo slides his hand free as fast as he can, tries to replace his fingers on the prefect’s waist before he thinks that  _that_  might not be neutral ground either, considering, and holds his hands up in front of him as a gesture of surrender. “Oh fuck, oh god what’s wrong, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m stopping, I’ve stopped, oh my  _god_  don’t cry Ishi don’t cry.”

Ishimaru stares at him blankly for a moment. His hands are still against the other boy’s skin --  _that’s a good sign_ , Mondo thinks distantly -- and he looks utterly perplexed in spite of the moisture still clinging to his cheeks.

“What?” He  _sounds_  perplexed too. One hand shifts from Mondo’s back, lifts to touch at his own skin. Ishimaru looks down to stare at it for a moment before looking back at Mondo. “Why did you stop?”

Now Mondo’s confused too. “Uh. You’re crying?”

“Yes.” Ishimaru tips his head an inch to the side, looking as confused as Mondo has ever seen him. “But why did you stop?”

“Aren’t you…” Mondo finally drops his hands. “Aren’t you upset?”

“No.”

“But you’re crying!”

“Oh.” Ishimaru looks back down at his fingers before bringing his arm up to scrub across his damp cheeks. “Yeah. That happens.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I just...I get overwhelmed. I didn’t realize I was crying, I’m sorry I startled you.” He opens his mouth, shuts it, blushes scarlet all over his face, looks down. “I liked it. You didn’t --” He chokes and clears his throat. “You didn’t have to stop.”

“Oh.” There’s a moment of perfect silence. Then Mondo reaches out, as tentatively as Ishimaru usually does, and carefully touches his fingers against the bottom edge of the prefect’s jacket. “You’re...you’re okay, then?”

Ishimaru nods violently, then tips his head up so he can look up at Mondo. He’s still red and his eyes are still damp, but he’s smiling too. After a moment Mondo smiles back.

“Okay.” His hands come back under the jacket to find skin again. “Where were we, then?”


End file.
